


Requital

by tsukinotsurugi (forgetfulAmoeba)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Gen, spoilers for chapter 115, with mentions of Hange and Erwin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 22:56:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18186737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgetfulAmoeba/pseuds/tsukinotsurugi
Summary: An imagine where Levi ponders about living. Canonverse. Spoilers for chapter 115.





	Requital

**Author's Note:**

> I doubt this counts as any sort of first time when it comes to writing things, but it is the first time trying out a piece as fiction and then putting it on ao3, so please be gentle :D

It is the various aches and twinges that alert him to the fact that he is no longer asleep. The ones that he could probably make a living out of as a weather forecaster if he were so inclined, gleefully informing him of rain on the way.

Today the right side of his face tingles. Normally it feels numb, like a limb gone dead from being pressed on for too long, but sometimes it's like his nerve ends have made an unlikely connection and are holding a reunion party. Like today.

His fingers hurt a bitch, for fingers that aren't there anymore. He wonders if this was what Erwin felt, and how on earth did he deal with the pain of an entire limb. A couple of fingers are nothing compared to a whole arm. He wonders if their missing appendages are holding a reunion party of their own as well. With Erwin presiding over the proceedings.

He hasn't completely lost the sight in his right eye, but the vision in it is so blurry that frankly it would have been better if he did. He slips on the eye patch so that he can look through his good left eye alone and sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed in a smooth motion. His left leg gives him no trouble at all when it comes to mobility, but on days like this it reminds him too that it was once a broken and healed thing.

The quietness of the cottage is still strange to him, having spent his entire life till now surrounded by people and their demands, sometimes annoyingly so. But as if to mock him for all the times that he wished for a little space to himself, he's not sure what to do with all of the little space that he has now. The first time being completely on his own, he hasn't decided yet whether he likes it or not.

It's strange too to be able to wake whenever he likes and do whatever he wants, although he still gets up at the crack of dawn regardless, any later only makes him feel like an invalid and he has had enough of that already, thank you very much.

His morning ablutions complete, he wanders over to the kitchen area and gets the stove going to heat water for a pot of tea.

Enjoying the ritual of rinsing and warming the teapot and measuring out the leaves into it, he fills the pot and, when he has deemed it steeped long enough, pours himself a cup.

And as he distributes the weight of the cup carefully between his remaining fingers as he tilts it towards his mouth, he considers what to do this day. Although he knows that he is always welcome at Hange's, he's not too sure if he's up to facing the enthusiasm of a neverending stream of jargon today. He could show up at the stables of the orphanage and help tend to the horses. The work of mucking out was as unappealing as ever, but the horses always soothed him, and it doesn't bother them what he looks like or that he once was Humanity's strongest, or Humanity's most pitiful now more like from the looks that he gets sometimes. He sighs. Or he could take himself out for a walk somewhere, somewhere with a vantage point from where he could simply admire the view. Or something. And get a soaking. He snorts. Nevermind. He still has a bit of time yet to decide what he wants to do today.

Because having no particular role to play in the times that they are living in he is at a loss, his skill set superfluous even if he were still able to wield his blades. From the truth of the basement to beyond the walls, beyond the ocean, they've made it. And he's survived to see it. But in a body full of reminders of what he had lost, of all they had lost to get here, some days he can't help wondering if the price was too high.

And this was perhaps the most difficult part of all. He didn't figure that he would reach a point where living would prove to be harder than dying, and he has no idea what to do with himself from here.

But perhaps, this is just what it means for him to fulfill his vow. To find the meaning in the happily ever after, the reason to keep going. That what they died for was worth it. For their memories to give him strength, the strength that he needs now more than ever, to find his place in the new era. It might take him a while yet to figure it out, but the only choice is to look forward. He would honour their sacrifice with his life.

He would live it for them.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm afraid that this is more a realisation of the dubious and pompous thoughts in my head than any real piece of fiction, and for that I apologise.
> 
> I have no plans to write any more unless there is something else that I really want to get off my chest in the future. Thank you for reading! :)
> 
> EDIT: I was Wrong.


End file.
